


Beyond Death

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Series: Into the Beyond [2]
Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: A take on the Theros story as we didn't get one, F/M, M/M, Multi, Psychological Horror, Theros: Beyond Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: As the Gods wage war over the plane of Theros, a new threat arises from the depths of the Underworld. Fuelled by revenge, motivated by nightmare, Elspeth Tirel begins her long journey back towards the land of the living. Yet, as the land itself erodes away her sense of self,and the Gods themselves dog her path, the odds seemed stacked impossibly against her. It will surely take great determination, and the assistance of an unlikely ally, to bring Elspeth even one step closer to justice.A take on the story behind Theros Beyond Death.
Relationships: Elspeth Tiriel/Daxos, Kynaios/Tiro
Series: Into the Beyond [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599976
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. To Light

Darkness surrounded him like a shroud. Blanketing his senses in a soft yet impenetrable haze of nothingness. He stumbled across rock and grass, feeling neither, comprehending neither. He was looking for someone. Someone important. It was this lone thought that kept him lumbering onwards – in what direction he did not know. All he understood was that he had not found them yet, so he must keep going. Who did he seek? Why did he seek them? That was apparently not for him to know and he did not question it. He simply kept on walking, placing one grey foot before the other. Blind to his ashen complexion, blind to all the world around him, he stumbled valiantly forward.

Until he could stumble no more.

He had bumped into something solid. Something hard and jagged. There was a faint clink of metal as his mask struck an outcropping of stone. He had enough awareness to recoil, but not enough to recollect what this impediment might be. He took another step forward. Another clank of metal upon stone, like golden coins dropping onto the banks of the river, lost too soon for safe passage. He turned on his heel and stepped in another direction. This time his passage was clear. So on he went.

The ground was rising beneath his feet, a steep incline that became increasingly grassy as he climbed. Up to his knees in vegetation, he stopped. He could _feel_ something. There was a feeling from the mask against his face. Tilting his chin, he let the sensation pass over the gold, letting it become more intense. What was this? He had known the name for this once. Like he had known many things. This was…

This was…

Warmth?

Yes. Yes, this was warmth. Oh how good it felt after so long spent in the shadows of the Underworld. This was a good feeling, a joy after wandering from despair to nothingness. He stretched out his arms, lifting them away from his cold and lifeless form. So wondrous. So warm.

“ **My brother has made a wretch of you**.”

He jumped, almost falling, slipping on the grass, away from the thrill of the warmth. Yet he wasn’t allowed to fall. He was lifted, clean off his feet and onto a surface unlike any he’d encountered on his journey so far. Gloriously warm, but in a different fashion. Solid but soft. Tough but organic.

He felt his face being lifted back towards the warmth. Something, or someone had gripped his chin and was tilting his head upwards.

“ **He has blinded you to all you once were** ,” said the voice, “ **Deprived you of the light of the Sun. No more**.”

The grip on his face retreated, only to grip at his mask with an almost crushing force. He let out a cry, meaning to grasp the golden covering, desperate to protect what marked him as a man and not a nameless spectre. The voice tutted loudly and suddenly the warmth became more intense. The mask shifted. His fingers slid off its smooth surface, helpless as his last vestige of personhood was pried clean from his body. He cried out, like an infant deprived of comfort. He wished to weep, but no sooner had the mask been born away, than another feeling overwhelmed his grief. 

He screamed.

The warmth was consuming him from the inside out. Not warmth, heat. Searing heat, white hot and burning, consumed him from the core. It pulsed with a newfound beat, cascading through his form in rhythmic waves of agony. Even as he convulsed and shrieked, he could feel the source of the beat. He had not felt it in so long, he had forgotten what it was. His heart was fluttering like a fledging bird, frantic and rapid, in its desperation to take wing. He felt sick to the stomach as his limbs trembled and sweat as if gripped by a fever. His vocal cords aching from lack of use, he screamed until he had no more volume to give from his heaving lungs. Finally, when every one of his organs had throbbed painfully back into use. When his breathing had slowed along with the racing of his heart. When he could feel the wind against his back and the hear sound of rustling trees in his ears…

Daxos opened his eyes.

He was surrounded by light. And not just any light but the radiance of his God. The enormous form of Heliod looked down on him with eyes like fire, still cupping the prone form of his oracle in one immense star-strewn hand. Daxos pushed himself into a kneeling position, muscles aching from new use. Heliod merely watched as he attempted to prostrate himself. Heliod had saved him. Heliod had found his servant, brought him back out of the Underworld for another chance to serve his greatness. Since he was young, brimming with god-speak and boundless potential, Daxos had diligently served his God. Yet he could never have imagined that he was dear enough to warrant bringing back. For all his studies at Meletis, he did not know the Sun God had the authority to return the dead. That was Erebos’ domain and the godly brothers were enemies. There was certainly not enough familiar affection to grant such favours. So how had he been granted this miracle?

“ **It is time** ,” proclaimed Heliod, “ **Cast aside your doubts, Daxos, Blessed by the Sun. For you will bring light to this world as my Champion. Theros has languished long enough, divided by the chaos sewn by my siblings and their folly. Soon all mortals shall bathe in my glory as you have bathed. Revelled in my light, as you have revelled. Returned from the darkness, as you have returned. All will be saved.** ”

“Y-Yes Divine One.” The words left his lips before he could even think over his God’s words. They sounded weak – a mixture of awe, pain and exhaustion as his mind caught up with all that had just transpired.

“ **As I have saved you** ,” Heliod continued, “ **Your soul has been restored my Champion. Your mortal form made fit for my purpose. Tonight, you depart for the city that once housed you – Meletis has been at cross-purposes for too long. It shall be our beacon into a new age**.”

“Yes, Divine One.”

He felt as weak as a newly born kitten. He would promise to set off for Meletis at once, but he feared he could not walk. Heliod however seemed to expect immediate action. He lowered his hand, tipping Daxos back onto the soft grass of the hillside.

“ **To Meletis** ,” he instructed, “ **Do not err off your path. My gift is as easily taken back as it was given.”**

Daxos nodded, kneeling in supplication, body almost obscured entirely in the long grass. Nose in the dirt, he did not see the precise moment in which the God vanished back into Nyx. But he felt the temperature drop around him as Heliod took his radiance with him.

Once certain that he was alone, Daxos pulled himself into a sitting position. The sun was high overhead, not far past noon. If he was to leave for Meletis tonight, he at least had some time to rest and recover after… well, after that. He took a deep breath, relishing in the sensation of clean air filling his lungs, exhaling to an even greater relief. Pressing one hand against his chest, then two fingers to his throat, he felt his pulse. He touched his face, maskless, his hair, tied back, and his clothing, unfamiliar but all in orange and golden hues like the sun’s rays. There was certainly one addition he’d never had in life. Strapped to his left arm like an Akroan’s shield, was a gleaming golden mask, topped with an ivory pegasus. 

The sight only increased the magnitude of what had just happened. He had not just been dead. He had been a Returned. No doubt wandering with little sense of purpose or self. How had he even got out here? The lush grassy plains about him were nothing like the bleak stories of the Underworld. His Returned had clearly wandered far. The undead often attempted to resume the activities of their former life. They pursued what had once been important to them, even if they did not understand its importance. Perhaps he was trying to get back to Meletis? No. That didn’t seem to be it. His life had not been dictated by travel. Besides, he held as many misgivings about his home as he did fond memories. Meletis was one of many places he’d been made to feel different – as an oracle he’d been lauded over ‘normal’ humans but treated like an outcast in his own temple. Only spoken to in times of great need, he had lacked what others treasured so dearly – family, friends, lovers.

That was it. The object of his search!

He was looking for the woman he loved.

He was looking for…

He was definitely looking for…

He scowled and beat the ground beside him.

Why.

Why couldn’t he remember her name?

Heliod had restored him completely! To perfect health and recollection. He could remember what he had eaten for breakfast what must have been countless years ago. Yet he couldn’t remember this one woman’s name! He tried to picture her, fill his mind with everything he recalled about why he loved her. The tip of a flowing white cape. Neatly groomed brown hair, tied up in the Akroan style. A hydra? But no face. No name either. How could he know he loved this woman but not remember anything about her?

Tearing up a tuft of grass, he stared at the sky. He could try yelling. Shouting to see if Heliod would answer his Champion. Yet the Gods did nothing without reason. Heliod had restored all his memories except the ones about this woman. Why? And would it anger him if Daxos brought it up. Perhaps he thought she would distract him from the task at hand. Not that he had much choice in the matter. As the Divine One had said, gifts could be taken away as easily as they were given.

Daxos sighed, watching a flock of birds pass over the Nyx-strewn sky. He only had one path ahead of him and it would take him back to Meletis. He would claim the city for Heliod as instructed. He would obey as he had always obeyed. Yet maybe, maybe, returning there would spark a few more memories of this woman. She must be something wondrous indeed for his Returned self to travel so far. Meletis would be the perfect place to start. He had lived there most of his life, so where else would they have met? It was decided. All his goals converged on one location; the will of his God had met the will of his heart. It was surely no coincidence.

It was time for Daxos to go home.

* * *

Darkness surrounded her like a shroud. Clinging to her senses like wet cloth around a wound, sharp and painful, no matter how she tried to escape its nothingness. Every new sight and sound burned like a funeral pyre. Trapping her, consuming her, so she might never return from this state. The Knights of Bant would burn their dead so they could not be used by the encroaching evil. Was this how it felt to be reduced to ash? Yet even that could not break her resolve. She was looking for someone. Someone important. It was this lone thought that kept her staggering onwards – in what direction she did not know. All she understood was that she had not found them yet, so she must keep going. Who did she seek? Why did she seek them? The burning made her think of churning earth, red hot magma and molten stone. Was it Koth that she sought? The pain only intensified as she fought back the guilt.. Had she abandoned him there? He had given her no choice but to leave New Phyrexia, but she had never tried to return. She could not face that scarred and corrupted plane again without reliving every torment of her youth. Yet as the heat intensified into a molten glow around her, she feared the worst. She was back. Somehow, despite all her best efforts…

“I knew you wouldn’t,” said a familiar voice, deep and filled with pain.

She gave a start, turning this way and that. However, all she could see was a singular pillar of light, intermittently orange and yellow. She stumbled towards it, eager to escape this blackness, but dreading what lay within the light.

“Your heart was always too brittle,” Koth continued, “You’d taken one too many beatings, any longer and you would have snapped. Maybe even become one of _them_.”

Never.

His words pierced her chest like many knives, fresh from the blacksmith’s forge. They burned as they struck her heart – each one a terrible accusation. Koth thought she was weak. Koth had never thought she could save anyone. Koth thought she would have given in… lost herself and given into the… No. No. She would never! She couldn’t!

She picked up the pace, staggering onwards towards the light. It was growing bigger, brighter, whatever she sought was getting closer by the footfall. She could smell it now, the sulphurous stench of volcanic activity. The light was surely lava flow. But even lava was preferable to nothing.

“I _prayed_ ,” Koth continued, “For you, for anyone, even though there was so little hope. Day after day, fight after fight, nothing and no one answered my pleas. Not that I expected they would.”

She should have been there. She could have helped! She wasn’t weak. She could have saved him, done something, fought to very the end. Yet there had been so little of Mirrodin left to save. Every hour was spent fighting her own internal terrors, along with the increasing strength of the Phyrexians. She had done everything she could! She hadn’t wanted to leave! Koth had made her, he had…

“You never came back,” said Koth, his voice filled with the pain that Elspeth now felt with every inch of her being, “You abandoned me. You ran, to save yourself, whilst I fought to my last _scrap_ of flesh.”

No.

He couldn’t…

No, he hadn’t.

Elspeth had reached the source of the light. A single stream of lava was flowing out the nothingness. Streaming down several feet into a great pool set into the floor. Remnants of molten rock bubbled on the surface, as the lava filled the basin to its very brim.. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the figure in the centre, sat directly under the lava flow as if were nothing but a bathhouse tap. She clasped her hands over her mouth, feeling tears well up thick and fast.

She had found him.

“Koth,” she breathed, “Koth… I’m…I’m here.”

The surface of the lava bubbled as the figure rose from the depths. First a head, adorned with white hot metal spikes and cruel hooked barbs. An arm reached for the side of the pool, thick copper cabling flexed where proud muscle once stood.

“No!” Elspeth took a step back even as she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

What was left of Koth’s face emerged. His jaw, hinged unnaturally wide, bore long needle-like teeth that rattled against each other, as he proclaimed:

“ _You’re too late_.”

Elspeth woke up sobbing.

She was sat at the foot of a tall tree, surrounded by a carpet of leaves and flowers. The trunk behind her back was rough against her chainmail, making a grinding sound as she shifted where she sat. As she curled in on herself, a few fragrant leaves drifted from overhead. One settled on her shoulder, bringing with it the scent of Spring and new life – a stark contrast to everything she’d expected from the Underworld. She brushed it off and watched it join a small clump of purple flowers by her foot. These delicate blooms also smelled divine, though they reminded her distinctly of soap. Her shoulders shook as she fought back tears, willing herself to take in the beauty of her surroundings. To block out the sight of lava with endless flowers and pleasant greenery. She could hear a brook babbling nearby, and the distant clash of a friendly sparring match between two long-dead heroes. Ilysia was vast, but somehow, she always managed to run into somebody who was enjoying this paradise far more than she was.

Elspeth’s guilt swiftly changed its target to the land around her. She should be enjoying everlasting bliss. Ilysia was everything a Therosi could ever dream of. It was a beautiful place full of only the most beautiful people. As she explored, she had walked amongst the plane’s finest warriors, it’s heroes and athletes, its scholars and oracles. The finest Theros had to offer and she had been included as one of them. It should be an honour. The dead here were treated to a life of plenty. The trees were ripe with fresh fruit that never went out of season. Wine flowed like water from ever-refilling barrels, found in the clearings reserved for merriment. The wildlife here was docile and friendly, the water clear and refreshing. There was no danger of any kind, and no animosity except what you brought with you. Yet even that faded with time.

Ilysia was filled with the gods’ favourites. Yet most couldn’t even remember what they had done to deserve such a title. Elspeth had quickly learned that the Underworld eroded at your sense of self, even in such luxurious climes as these. Starting with your most distant memories, working their way to your fondest. This place would steal away everything that once made a person, leaving them shells, empty vessels of their former selves. Some survived longer than others. In cruel irony, it was often martyrs that were lost first, for they were not given the same burial rites as priests or scholars. It seemed the more elaborate your funeral, the more decorated your mask and your burial attire, the easier it became to cling onto what you once were. Elspeth had met heroes living in blissful ignorance of anything they had once achieved, residing beside stony faced priestesses who could still recall the day they gave themselves to the sea. Time seemed irrelevant here. How remembered you were in life, how many people believed in you when you passed, that appeared to make all the difference.

Elspeth felt like she had most of her memories intact. If she didn’t, then why would she have to relive them every time she slept? Even in death, she could not escape the horrors of her past. Her every restful moment had become an opportunity to relive the worst hours of her life. She could not understand why she was being reminded of such pain in the land of bliss and plenty. No other soul she had spoken to had received a single nightmare whilst they were here. In fact, they looked at her quite oddly when she mentioned them – as if they doubted her true place here. Everyone is happy in Ilysia, they told her. This is our reward for living virtuous lives. This is our prize for pleasing our Gods. There is no pain here, no suffering, no hunger, all is provided so we may spend the rest of eternity in bliss.

At times she felt this was worse than living. Whilst alive, she could make herself so tired that she fell asleep without any terrible dreams. Now the nightmares did not discriminate between day and night, nap, rest or daydream. They were unrelenting. Unyielding visions of guilt and agony from her childhood to the moment she had died. If this was her punishment, why was she in here and not in Tizerius? It made no sense. Something wasn’t right here, but Elspeth was no closer to guessing what it was. None of the Therosi she had met had been the slightest bit of help.

“Elspeth?”

She jumped. Wrenched out of her thoughts, she looked up to see two familiar faces bearing over her. At the sight of her tears, they immediately sat, clearly not wanting to upset or intimidate her further.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The men exchanged a look before directing their attention back to her. Tiro and Kynaios were some of the most extravagantly dressed men she had met in Ilysia. They had been buried in full plate, the antiquated armour speaking of a time long past any she had been present to witness. On one arm, they each bore a golden shield – dented from many battles but still proudly polished to a mirror sheen. Their helmets looked large and cumbersome, but bore extravagant crests of feathers that could only have come from some magical beast – a chimera or perhaps an archon judging by the way the feathers glittered in the light. More often than not, they would lay their shields and helmets aside, pick a section of this meadow and remain there for days. One would occasionally get up to fetch refreshment for the pair, but would soon be back to simply bask in the other’s company. They were a couple, that much was undeniable. It was evident from the sheer affection these men showed each other. From simple gestures and touches, to the laughter that rang out over the flower fields, they were clearly still enamoured with each other even after all this time. On their backs they wore matching funeral masks – incredibly ornate and inset with precious stones. The silvers and blues in their masks, coupled with their clothing, reminded Elspeth of somewhere. Though where she couldn’t recall. Either way, these men had probably lived and died together, it was only suitable that they got to enjoy paradise together as well.

“We wish to seek your counsel,” said Kynaios, sitting crosslegged in the flowers. They were both immensely tall and broad-shouldered, warriors that any Akroan would look up to. They cast long shadows across the flowers that Elspeth did her best not to look at. The darker the shadow, the more she feared she’d slip into another nightmare.

“You are the only one who has been troubled in Ilysia,” Tiro continued, “And now so are we.”

Elspeth sat up a little straighter. They were unhappy? She wasn’t the only one?

“What ails you?” she asked. The men glanced at each other once more.

“We have been having dreams of late,” Kynaois explained, “Both of us, the same each time we lay to rest. Dreams of a place named Meletis, and the danger it is in.”

“This Meletis is very dear to us,” Tiro added, “We do not recall why. We have spent too long in this place to remember anything but each other but… we are concerned about what will befall a place that is so precious to us.”

“I understand,” Elspeth replied. Meletis! That was what the silvers and blues reminded her of! She had spent a lot of time in Meletis after becoming Heliod’s Champion. She had spent a lot of time there with him. How had she forgotten what it was called? Maybe this place was starting to erode at her after all?

“What happens in your dreams?” she asked.

“Many tragedies,” Tiro stated, “The sea floods and fills the walls with wave-born monstrosities. The crops grow fallow whilst the weeds strangle the livestock. Plagues and curses run rife in the city streets whilst families battle each other rather than aid their people.”

“The gods wage war on Meletis,” Kynaios concluded, “Each unleash their wrath upon the population and we cannot glean why. On occasion, when we wake, we can see vestiges of the tragedies – horrific creatures, lurking in the shadows of the trees, in our own shadows. I do not recall ever being one for prophecy but these… these nightmares feel far too real.”

She wasn’t the only one! If the nightmares were happening to other people, then this wasn’t just a product of her tortured history!

“I have seen much the same,” she told them, “Not Meletis, but places and people once dear to me. I have seen them tortured, then vestiges of those horrors, they have appeared in these fields. I thought was going mad, such things should not appear in Ilysia.”

Both men nodded.

“Until these dreams started, we have not once felt sorrow in this place,” said Kynaios, “We have lived an existence of joy and love. Pain, terror, despair, these things should not be felt in Ilysia. They cannot be felt in Ilysia. We are the only ones who have experienced them, and only of late.”

So their dreams had started only recently? They spoke to Elspeth like a warning. Something terrible was on its way to Meletis, but what could they do to prevent it? They had no memories of the place, and they were trapped here in the Underworld.

“How long have you been having these dreams?” she asked.

They murmured amongst themselves for a moment. It was hard to keep track of time in a place like this where day and night depended on where you wandered and not the linear passage of time.

“Since last we returned to the meadow,” Tiro managed, “After you asked after your own visions, and proclaimed them to be part of your own memories.”

So, they had started having nightmares shortly after she’d told them about hers? She had indeed said that perhaps they were just fragments of her mind. That she was merely reliving a battle torn life. However, the timing was too convenient. No sooner has she concluded that these were just regular nightmares, then they had started having them too. Almost as if to prove her wrong.

“If terror has no place in Ilysia,” she thought aloud, “Then the source must be something not of Ilysia,”

_“Correct.”_

She jumped.

Kynaios and Tiro stared at her as she looked around for the source of the voice. However, she saw no one else around, and neither of them had spoken.

“Are you well?” asked Tiro, looking as concerned as she felt.

“I thought I heard something,” she replied, suddenly wishing she had a blade at hand.

 _“There is no need for weapons just yet_ ,” said the voice, “ _I am simply here to be of assistance to you. Time has become pressing, the situation spirals out of control. What these royals see is as rooted in fact as your nightly terrors. We however, can stop this.”_

The voice spoke with a noticeable hiss, somewhere between a death rattle and serpentine rage. It didn’t sound human and that was more than enough to put Elspeth on high alert.

“What do you mean?” she demanded of it, confusing her onlookers entirely.

 _“Meet me at the dusk-laden grove,”_ said the voice, “ _There I will explain much. Once we meet, I will free these royals of their burden, so they may return to bliss.”_

Kynaios and Tiro were frowning at her as she clambered to her feet.

“I know how to free you of your nightmares,” she told them, “We’re right. There is no terror in Ilysia, an outside force is trying to contact us and they just succeeded. I’m going to meet with them. I’ll inform you once we’re done.”

They still looked rather nonplussed as she picked her mask off the ground and began to pick her way through the flowers. An inhuman voice inside her head should terrify her, but she had been through enough terror recently that this paled in comparison. She needed answers about these nightmares, both hers and theirs, and this was the only lead she had. She might be walking into unknown dangers, but what were they going to do, kill her again? She needed to know why this wasn’t the paradise everyone expected. She needed to know why she had to relive the worst parts of her life all day and night. And she needed to know what was happening to Meletis.

And if she didn’t get her answers, gods help whoever this being was.


	2. The Grove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth seeks out the source of her nightmares and has very mixed feelings about what she discovers there.

How Elspeth came to possess a mask, she did not know. She had been killed in Nyx and dragged off to the Underworld before anyone could hold any funeral rites. Perhaps Ajani had arranged something for her. However, by the time she had died, anyone she knew of any faith had believed her a traitor. Had the leonin mourned her? Perhaps Anthousa and the Setessans? There was no way of knowing. All she had to go on was the smooth golden surface of her mask, set with twin stones much like Godsend. She certainly hadn’t been adorned in any ceremonial garb. In fact, she felt like something was missing. She had inspected herself from head to toe, feeling like something was amiss. She was sure part of her attire was gone, but what was it? Perhaps the Underworld had already taken that memory from her. It wasn’t important. Or perhaps it was? Regardless, there were more pressing matters to attend to as she strode across the flower laden fields of Ilysia.

The dusk-laden grove had no name, and was one of many natural features in the surrounding woodland. Some might call it no different to any other clearing, however it was one of very few locations kept in perpetual dusk. Day and night did not pass as it should here in the Underworld. Those residing here did not get tired or hungry, they could while away their afterlife aware and active if they so wished. However, many brought over habits they shared in life. Among Ilysia’s many joys were the pleasures of a good meal, or tasting fine wine or rich meats. Sleep, pure undisturbed sleep, was another such joy. So, areas had been designated night for that purpose. You could try and sleep in the sunny fields, but it came so much easier in the softer quieter places – where the sky was strewn with the stars of Nyx and all was dark. There were pockets of suspended time everywhere. Elspeth could decide if she wanted it to be dawn, noon, dusk or night, depending on where she explored. She felt like she had traversed every square foot of this paradise - it was therefore quite easy to pick out this particular grove from the others.

She could hear carousing as she picked her way through the trees, choosing to sweep through the undergrowth rather than draw attention upon the path. As she walked, the air about her got darker, cooler, as if she was indeed walking into the night. Ilysia was never cold but the drop in temperature could not be avoided underneath the canopy of the trees. She picked her way through bushes, unseasonably ripe with glistening berries. Tame little deer, colourful rodents and bizarrely spotted frogs scampered away from her approach. Scurrying off into the underbrush to their nests and burrows, she heard them cry to their fellows that a new soul had entered their haven. They were harmless. All the wildlife here was. She couldn’t help but feel from their starry skins and hides, that she would be as ineffectual against them as they would be against her.

She pushed past a pair of slender trees, entwined around each other in a clearly artifical fashion. The following grove was full of them. Twisting knotted bows framing the space like archways, leading off into the depths of the forest. A circle of ground had been left bare of roots, smooth grass and the occasional flower covering the soil at her feet. A little light filtered through the branches, but if she looked up, all she could see was a dark Nyx-filled sky. When she had first arrived in Ilysia, the sudden change of time had alarmed her. By now, it had become expected.

“Hello?” she called out, finding herself alone in this promised meeting place. There were no tracks upon the ground – not even that of beasts. No one sat in the shade of the trees or high in their branches. For all intents and purposes, she was alone.

_“Greetings,”_

She jumped. The hiss of a voice was back, still very much inside her head. She cast her gaze about, there was no sight of the speaker. She found herself, once again, wishing she had a weapon at hand.

“I’m here,” Elspeth announced, “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“ _Much,”_ replied the voice, “ _I thank you for your expedient response. This will save us valuable time in the hours ahead.”_

“What do you mean?” she demanded, “What do you want?”

She thought she saw something moving between two trees woven into an arch. She blinked, and there was no one there. She did not like this. She did not like this one bit. What kind of meeting was this when she couldn’t even see the other party?

“Show yourself!” she exclaimed.

 _“Impossible,_ ” replied the voice, _“I cannot show myself for I am not supposed to be present.”_

Not meant to be in Ilysia? That made sense. If this person was giving her the nightmares, if they had the ability to sew such horrors, they didn’t belong here at all.

“Not supposed to be in Ilysia?” she questioned, “Or not supposed to be in the Underworld at all?”

 _“Both, of course,”_ said the voice, “ _If the Gods knew I was here to assist you in leaving this place, why, that would be an impossible situation for us both.”_

They were here to help her leave? Why hadn’t they just said that from the beginning?

“You want to help me leave the Underworld,” Elspeth concluded aloud, “Why?”

 _“It benefits me,”_ said the voice.

“How?”

 _“That is not for you to know until we have made an agreement,”_ said the voice. Elspeth frowned. What agreement exactly?

 _“The world of Theros is on the brink of calamity,”_ the voice continued, _“The Sun God, he tires of sharing his realm with his siblings. He has raised one dear to you, one Daxos, to begin his crusade across this plane.”_

Daxos?!

 _“It would be of interest to you,”_ the voice stated, “ _To see him once more. To save him from such a fate, would it not?”_

“Of course!” she replied, “How could you doubt that I-“

They cut her off.

“ _And you wish for revenge, no_ justice, _against the God who sought to use you and then disposed of you in his arrogance?”_

“Yes,” Elspeth replied, her tone grim.

_“And Theros… it has caused you great pain, but also great happiness. You would not see it become a battlefield, for its mortals to suffer and perish for the selfish squabbles of its gods?”_

“Yes!” Elspeth exclaimed, suddenly tired of this monologuing.

“Yes, I want all of that,” she continued, “However I cannot leave the Underworld, I cannot leave Ilysia let alone make it across the river.”

“ _That is why I am necessary,”_ said the voice, sounding pleased with themself, _“I have walked this Underworld, I know it’s routes, I can lead you down the correct paths to take. And most importantly, you will keep your sense of self, unlike so many who have traversed before you.”_

They were right. Whilst she was alive, she had heard tales about the Underworld and it’s Returned – some from Daxos, others from idle chatter in her vicinity. The Underworld wore away at your sense of self, as evidenced from all these memoryless heroes. If this is what happened in the pleasant part of the Underworld, there was no knowing what happened in the parts designed for degradation and torture. Would she even remember why she was travelling by the end of it? Or would she end up a shambling grey zombie, the last traces of her life writ across her golden burial mask? Or was that what this mysterious entity was proposing. That they could prevent the deterioration even setting in?

“ _Oh, it has already set in,”_ they replied to her thoughts, “ _However, I have sustained your memory by visiting whilst you rest. Reminders. Dredging up your memories before they can sink into the depths of obsolescence.”_

So, they were the source of her nightmares.

At this confirmation, anger and resentment rose up within her like a hydra rearing each of its ugly heads. The person who had been torturing her night after night was now very keen to be in her good graces. Insisting that she needed them, insisting that they were helping her, when they had forced her to relive the worst parts of her life over and over without relief or remorse!

 _“Were you not listening?”_ said the voice, “ _I did not torment you for idle pleasure. Though parts were enjoyable, and much was fascinating, I was maintaining your-“_

“You enjoyed torturing me?!” she exclaimed, “You took pleasure in denying me everything this place has to offer? For once, I had a chance of being happy, in a place where everyone is happy, and you couldn’t even let me have that?”

 _“In this place, happiness is ignorance,”_ the voice replied. If they had any feelings concerning her sudden rage, they did not express them.

_“Would you rather be yourself, or happy?”_

Elspeth scowled. Deep down, she knew they had a point. She would not want to lose her memories. For whilst she would lose the painful ones, she would also forget what fleeting joy she had known. In fact, the terror only made the happiness sweeter, without either… well, her life would seem as miserable as her death. However, she was still angry. Angry that whoever this person was had deemed it necessary to poke about in her head. To view her innermost secrets without any form of consent, to inspect her to core without so much as a ‘please’ or ‘may I’. What was worse, they had enjoyed her terror. They had found her trauma fascinating. They had used her for their own entertainment under some thinly veiled guise of helping her! No more! She hadn’t given them permission to be in her mind. She didn’t even know this person whilst they knew her most intimate thoughts and fears. She felt used. Distinctly used by someone falsely offering help and she was not going to be let herself be used again!

She balled her hands in her fists, looking for someone to strike. But still, there was no one around.

“Who are you?” she demanded of the empty air, “What gives you the right to tear through people’s minds?! My head is my own. The last of me. It is private!”

 _“It is too late for talk of privacy_ ,” said the voice, still frustratingly neutral, _“I have seen all there is to see. Known all there is to know. It was necessary for you to remain who you are. For you to be the person I need. The hero Theros needs.”_

“So I can be manipulated into being a champion again?” Elspeth retorted, “Are you going to run me through as soon as you’re done with me like the last entity to use me? Who are you really? Erebos? Phenax? I will not be used by any more selfish gods!”

 _“Of course not,”_ the voice replied, their words picking up in speed now with her mounting rage, _“You will be free to go wherever you please, with whoever you please. Find yourself new happiness. I just want to help you escape.”_

“Why?” she demanded again, “How does that benefit you?”

 _“I cannot say,”_ said the voice, “ _Not until we have reached an agreement_.”

“I don’t make deals with strangers who torture me,” Elspeth stormed, “And I don’t know why you think I would.”

 _“Because you are the heroic sort,”_ replied the voice, “ _Your love of saving innocents. Your love of the one named Daxos. You wish to help them. You need me to help them.”_

“From a war only you know about!” Elspeth retorted.

_“Did the Kings not speak of it?”_

The Kings? Tiro and Kynaios, it had to be. Just from the way they were dressed, it seemed so obvious now. Elspeth gritted her teeth. Oh yes, the great calamity that would befall Meletis, the battling of the Gods. If Daxos was alive, of course he’d head back home to Meletis. Of course, Heliod’s war would start there. She didn’t want to admit the voice had a point so instead she demanded:

“Who even are you? What’s your name?”

 _“I am Nobody_ ,” said the voice, _“That is all you will know, unless you agree to my help.”_

And if she didn’t, well, they would still be nobody. She couldn’t trust a person who wouldn’t show her their face, or even give some sensible alias. If they really wanted to earn her trust, if they were really telling the truth, then they would have made more effort to win her over. They would have displayed some transparency, some honesty, instead of inflicting her with horror after horror after horror!

 _“If not for my assistance, you would no longer be yourself,_ ” they stated, _“You have been down here for over a year, with no true burial, no rites. Without my assistance, would you not have wasted away forgotten even by yourself?”_

“Why not just write it all down?” she accused, “Why not show me the happy memories? You hurt me and expect me to trust you!”

 _“I do not deal in happy memories_ ,” said Nobody. If that was what they were calling themselves, then Nobody they would be from now on. Nobody important. Nobody Elspeth could trust.

“ _This is the only way I can help you,”_ Nobody continued, “ _It is not happiness, but when has striving to help others been a joyous or pleasant occasion for you?_ ”

Once again, Nobody had a point. But she still didn’t trust them. For all she knew, they had planted those nightmares in the Kings’ heads. They wouldn’t know! Meletis might not even be important to them. They were so far lost to the Underworld, they might just be clinging to what the dreams told them.

 _“You have seen the statues,”_ said Nobody, _“Of the Kings of Meletis. I do not plant new seeds, I only harvest what is already sewn.”_

An image flashed into her mind of a boat trip from long ago. She had been tasked to guard a young oracle on her way to Meletis. A journey fraught with dangers from Gods wishing to the claim the young girl as their own. Her memory-self looked up at two towering figures, armoured statues so tall they had made her wonder how they were ever constructed. Yet as she stared at them in a new light… They were Kynaios and Tiro. The resemblance was uncanny even after all this time. She should tell them. Perhaps this was why they still had scraps of their memory remaining, because they had been immortalised in giant pillars of stone.

“ _Do you believe me now_?” asked Nobody.

She did and she disliked it.

“I do not trust you,” she stated, “I refuse to trust you until you present me with the honesty I deserve. You have made me relive the very worst moments of my existence and now expect me to work with you without complaint. I-“

“ _You may complain all you wish, it would not matter_.”

She scowled at wherever they may be. She did not appreciate being interrupted.

“You expect me to help you. Not knowing who you are. Your motives. Your goals. You expect me to put myself through all that pain, to relive those moments every night, to protect a world I have no proof is in danger? You want me to fight the gods themselves, to save the world by myself… And you think I will help you just because you say I should?”

_“Yes.”_

The simplicity of their answer infuriated her. She turned on her heel and strode from the clearing.

_“You would see Theros destroyed in your stubbornness?”_

Of course not.

_“Then assist.”_

“I will not help you!”

_“You are not as heroic as I envisioned. Do you not love the one named Daxos?_

How dare they speak his name. No! They weren’t even speaking, they were in her gods-damned head! Get out! Get OUT.

_“No.”_

“I’m leaving,” she proclaimed, “And if you try to feed me any more lies, any more horrors, I will find you and wring your throat.”

_“You will return but you will not do that.”_

She let out a cry of rage and stormed out of the clearing. Damn Nobody! Damn them to the deepest darkest pits of Tizerius! She scattered leaves, frightening mice from their nests as she stormed her way back through the woods. She would tell the Kings who they were. She would get a decent night’s rest and then… and then…

She didn’t know what then.

But it wouldn’t involve Nobody, that was for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more MTG content and story, consider supporting me on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6151723)!


	3. Shatter the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth refuses to believe the bodiless voice of her tormentor. However it seems the Gods have now taken matters into their own hands.

Still incensed by the audacity of this Nobody, Elspeth stomped her way back through the woodland. Who in their right mind thought torturing someone, exposing them to the worst parts of their own personal history, would incentivise them to cooperate? Especially to a plan in which she, the one being tormented, didn’t know the motivations of the one she was making a deal with. It was idiocy plain and simple. Even if those nightmares were the only means to keep her memory intact, as Nobody claimed, she had yet to see any evidence of that. Besides, she refused to believe that was the only way. Surely being reminded of the happier parts of her existence would have the same effect. Pain was a great motivator but it was not the only one. Besides, how could she believe anything said by an invisible voice that refused to give any details about themselves, when they had her whole history? This was manipulation plain and simple and she refused to be manipulated. Nobody was simply dredging up what had motivated her in the past, making her relive her memories of Daxos, of Heliod, of her own heroic nature, in an attempt to get her to do what they wanted. Perhaps there wasn’t even a war! If the gods were truly trying to destroy each other, wouldn’t she have seen something already? Ilysia was constructed by the gods to be the final reward for their favoured priests and heroes. If there was an imbalance of power in Nyx, then surely…

“The sky! The sky!”

A shrill cry rent the air just as Elspeth stepped free of the woodland. She was still a while away from the meadow she’d started in today, but she wasn’t the only one now running towards the flower fields. Over a dozen robed figures were trampling through the grass straight towards the area Elspeth had spent most of her time in this realm. They weren’t the only ones either, as Elspeth joined the throng, she saw figures of countless eras and faiths, running towards the same area. All of whom concerned, all of whom sending worried glances at the sky.

Once they were at the fields, it was plain to see why. What had once been an idyllic blue sky with only the occasional wisps of fluffy white cloud had been shattered. As if someone had taken a rock to the glass pane of a window, the sky had been split into thousands of fragments. The shards of sky grew increasingly larger from an immense impact directly above one corner of the flower fields. The shards still showed that perfect blue summer sky, but the gaps between glittered with the familiar stars of Nyx. The centre of the impact, where the metaphorical brick had landed, was an enormous glittering hole, like the eye of a storm amidst the shimmering chaos that was the fractured sky around it. The entire sky overhead now glittered in a myriad of colours, bleeding a rainbow of light across the entirety of Ilysia until the cracks faded back into the usual blue. Elspeth couldn’t help but be reminded about the sheer artificial nature of this part of the Underworld. Ilysia had been created as a paradise, created by the Gods for their chosen few, and now there was a crack. Someone or something had broken into this home, this holding area, and the artificial nature of this whole construct was now plain to see.

“Anax!” a voice suddenly cried, “Anax, they took my husband!”

A familiar figure sprinted through the flowers towards the cluster of shocked and frightened heroes. Elspeth recognised her at once as Cymede, the queen of Akros who had given herself to Keranos to save Akros from impending ruin. Elspeth had lived and fought alongside Cymede, and her husband King Anax, against the forces sent by Xenagos to incite war then revelry. She had no idea that Anax was dead but it looked like any chance for a reunion had long passed. Cymede joined the crowds exclaiming:

“I saw the hammer fall upon Ilysia! Purphoros’ mighty hammer fell upon our skies and from the wreckage he took Anax away! I saw the very stars form into the Forge-God’s hand and pluck him, straight from the ground!”

“But Anax held his faith in Iroas?” Elspeth replied, pushing to the front of the crowds as Cymede continued to gesture wildly at the sky. Cymede instantly turned to look at her.

“He did!” she replied, her voice high with panic, “Yet the Forge-God has taken him for I know not what! How did the Forge-God reach so far into the Underworld? How will I ever get him back?”

“Erebos wouldn’t allow it!” said a man in long black robes, stepping out of the throng to address everyone assembled there, “The Underworld is Erebos’ domain, he would not suffer anyone leave its reaches!”

“Athreos neither!” called a priestess in a striped chiton, “Athreos would not allow god nor mortal to pass back into the realm of the living.”

“Look at that!” Cymede exclaimed, pointing at the sky, “That cannot be the will of Erebos, nor any other deity of death and passing! Purphoros forced his way into Ilysia and kidnapped my husband! And we cannot leave because of Erebos to save him!”

There was an air of confusion and increasing panic amidst the assembled heroes now. The happiness of Ilysia had been thoroughly ruined along with its skyline. All these people who had been promised rest and joy after their hard fights were now gearing up for battle. Shields were raised and blades were drawn. Priest and priestesses of differing faiths rallied together to murmur about what this might mean according to their relative faiths. Elspeth stuck close to Cymede, listening to her moment by moment description of what had happened. From the first strike against the sky to the second she realised her love was gone. As she listened, Elspeth’s gaze roamed the crowd for Kynaios and Tiro, wondering if this had anything to do with their nightmares of Meletis. When Cymede had to sit to recover from her dramatic retelling, Elspeth thanked her and went looking for the Kings.

She found them near the back of the crowd, talking to an armoured minotaur with the war paint of Mogis upon her chest and face. Upon sight of her, they beckoned her over.

“There is more troubling news afoot,” Tiro informed her, gesturing to the minotaur.

“I have heard rumours,” said the minotaur, “That Tymaret the Murder King, given new form, has been seen wandering the edges of Ilysia. My sisters watch the borders, unused to peace, and they sent me word that it appears Erebos has made a deal with the tyrant not even Lord Mogis could satiate.”

“Did Tymaret hold faith in Erebos in life?” Elspeth asked. She had heard of the figure through story alone, the ancient King far too old for her to have seen him on her travels through Theros.

The minotaur shook her head.

“No, Tymaret was a force onto himself. Mogis saw his potential but the King refused even the favour of the War God.”

So, another figure who had been claimed by a god they did not worship. This only added to Elspeth’s alarm as she realised that all boundaries were breaking. Ilysia was no longer a resting place, it was under attack. Other gods were breaking into the Underworld and taking heroes that didn’t even worship them. She recalled what Nobody had said about Heliod taking Daxos as his champion. He had made Daxos his general to fight against the other gods. Did that mean the other gods were now choosing themselves champions as well? Purphoros had taken Anax and Erebos had picked Tymaret? With no regard for who the figures had revered in life, they had claimed these souls for their own and the encroaching war. With this complete disrespect of their champions, it was clear the coming battle was a matter of personal pride for Theros’ Gods. As much as she was loathe to admit it, Nobody was right. War was coming and the ordinary people of Theros would be the ones to suffer. She needed to get to Meletis, but she’d explored every stretch of Ilysia by now, she had never found a way out.

“Are you still with us?” asked Kynaios.

Elspeth was jerked back to reality from the depths of her thoughts.

“Yes, my apologies.”

“We were telling Uzrell here about our dreams,” Kynaois continued, “About Meletis being struck by calamity after calamity.”

“It is akin to my dreams of Skophos,” said Uzrell the minotaur, “War will tear down our walls but not the righteous war of our kind. It comes from the petulant squabbling of gods who see our kind as nothing more than cattle for the slaughter.”

“Such danger is coming,” Tiro continued, “But we are stuck here helpless whilst gods pick us out like toy soldiers. Are we just to sit by and wait as the world crumbles around us?”

Elspeth shook her head.

“There has to be something. There will be something,” she replied, “With such heroes here I am sure Ilysia will be safe if the fight is brought here but… we cannot reach the rest of Theros.”

Or could they? Nobody claimed to have a means out for her, could she bring the others with her? Could she lead an army of heroes to protect the citizens of Theros from their gods? Would that even work, there were so many devotees here, so many people who still blindly worshipped the gods that had led them to their deaths. Wouldn’t they just join the armies of the gods they had served in life? Could some even cope with modern Theros when they had fallen millennia ago? She didn’t have the answers to these questions. Yet, to her slight annoyance, she reckoned she knew who did.

She slipped away from the conversation as the Kings talked with Uzrell about what measures they could put in place to protect the people residing in Ilysia who no longer remembered what war was like. Silently, Elspeth made her way back through the crowd as everyone shuffled off into little groups, trying to work out what to do with the situation at hand. There was still revelry taking place in the woods as Elspeth retraced her footsteps. No doubt some were too drunk or gluttonous to worry about the sky when there was unlimited refreshment to enjoy. She saw a few sleeping figures in the trees – too fast asleep to notice the commotion around them. Leaving them be, she continued back towards the dusk-laden grove, wondering if Nobody was even going to be there. Would they be waiting for her or would they have moved on to find themselves someone else? Could there be someone else? As far as she could tell, there was no one quite with her history here. Certainly, no other planeswalkers.

The clearing was exactly the same as it had been a few hours ago. The shadowy eaves of the nearby trees still rustled and swayed with a passing breeze. Looking up, Elspeth saw that the sky above, once dim and sparkling with stars, had now been bisected in half with one enormous glittering crack full of Nyx. The impact had landed even here. Yet still, there was no sight or trace of whoever Nobody was.

“Alright, I believe you,” Elspeth announced, “The Gods are fighting and I will help. However, I want to know one thing first, before I even raise a finger to assist you. What do you get out of this?”

There was a low hiss of laughter from a nearby tree.

 _“I knew you’d come round,”_ came the familiar voice in her head.

“What do you want?” Elspeth demanded, making it plain they weren’t going anywhere with this conversation until she got her answer.

 _“Oh, I only want to observe_ ,” said Nobody, _“I am a scholar of sorts.”_

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Elspeth retorted, “What are you researching? What do you want to see?”

More laughter. It sent a chill down her spine but she stood resolute.

 _“What do I want to see?”_ Nobody repeated, “ _What do I want to see…”_

They paused before giving one more chuckle.

_“I want to see a God die.”_


End file.
